“Come in out of that, you!” the Old Man sung out “Smartly now, and get down on deck!”

“i, i, Sir,” the man replied, and started to make his way in.

The Skipper waited until he had got into the main rigging, and then he told me to get down out of the top.  He was in the act of following, when, all at once, there rose a loud outcry on deck, and then came the sound of a man screaming.

“Get out of my way, Jessop!” the Skipper roared, and swung himself down alongside of me.

I heard the Second Mate shout something from the starboard rigging.  Then we were all racing down as hard as we could go.  I had caught a momentary glimpse of a man running from the doorway on the port side of the fo’cas’le.  In less than half a minute we were upon the deck, and among a crowd of the men who were grouped round something.  Yet, strangely enough, they were not looking at the thing among them; but away aft at something in the darkness.

“It’s on the rail!” cried several voices.

“Overboard!” called somebody, in an excited voice.  “It’s jumped over the side!”

“Ther’ wer’n’t nothin’!” said a man in the crowd.

“Silence!” shouted the Old Man.  “Where’s the Mate?  What’s happened?”

“Here, Sir,” called the First Mate, shakily, from near the centre of the group.  “It’s Jacobs, Sir.  He—­he—­”

“What!” said the Skipper.  “What!”

“He—­he’s—­he’s—­dead I think!” said the First Mate, in jerks.

“Let me see,” said the Old Man, in a quieter tone.

The men had stood to one side to give him room, and he knelt beside the man upon the deck.

“Pass the lantern here, Jessop,” he said.

I stood by him, and held the light.  The man was lying face downwards on the deck.  Under the light from the lantern, the Skipper turned him over and looked at him.

“Yes,” he said, after a short examination.  “He’s dead.”

He stood up and regarded the body a moment, in silence.  Then he turned to the Second Mate, who had been standing by, during the last couple of minutes.

“Three!” he said, in a grim undertone.

The Second Mate nodded, and cleared his voice.

He seemed on the point of saying something; then he turned and looked at Jacobs, and said nothing.

“Three,” repeated the Old Man.  “Since eight bells!”

He stooped and looked again at Jacobs.

“Poor devil! poor devil!” he muttered.

The Second Mate grunted some of the huskiness out of his throat, and spoke.

“Where must we take him?” he asked, quietly.  “The two bunks are full.”

“You’ll have to put him down on the deck by the lower bunk,” replied the Skipper.

As they carried him away, I heard the Old Man make a sound that was almost a groan.  The rest of the men had gone forrard, and I do not think he realised that I was standing by him